Storia
by Rain Sky
Summary: I'm not okay. But the mask of the unnoticed flower is the one I must wear to face the world. Challenge. OiSM-compliant. One-shot.


A/N: This is yet another one-shot written, this time written for Lady Eleanor Boleyn's challenge. It is Challenge #51 on the forum Bellatrix Lestrange: The Dark Lord's Most Faithful. _Storia_ is Italian for "history", "story", and "lie". It is part of the OiSM universe. I am also still working on _James Potter and the Belladonna Lanterns_, but after the burglary, I've had a much more difficult time continuing OiSM.

Word Count: 1000

I inherited a multitude of things from my grandmother. Unlike my sister, who inherited our mother's widely admired chestnut waves, I have my father's mundane blonde hair – neither smoky like a fantasy heroine nor stunningly fair like my mother-in-law's – and they were _his_ mother's before him. My fingers too are long – I normally hide them in assorted gloves but I have to admit I am pleased whenever Father tells me I play piano like his mother did.

I also have the rather unfortunate distinction among purebloods to always be overlooked, as my grandmother often was. She had two elder sisters, both fair to behold. One was sweet and loving; she brought sunshine everywhere she went. The middle sister had a wildly successful career in business and gave birth to the man who would go on to father the Boy-Who-Lived. Between the two of them, no one noticed little Vivienne, who could offer nothing that her sisters couldn't, even years after they passed on.

Then, he saw me. He'd, of course, seen me many times before. He was the 'sunshine' sister's grandson, making us second cousins, after all, and my father was greatly respected by his mother for reasons they would never explain. The first time, we'd smiled and exchanged pleasantries, done our duty to our families. Later, I caught sight of him painting with relish in the late afternoon light, smiling the way he wouldn't while we were at school together. He doesn't know I saw him. I don't know what he was painting, either; I'm still too cowardly to ask and let on that I saw.

But, eventually, he saw me. He saw Astoria Greengrass – not yet seventeen and thrown into a bloody war that turned the country red from the bodies of friends, enemies, family, and complete strangers. During my mad sixth year at school, he was just short of falling apart himself but he turned to me, mustered up a smile, and said, "Everything will be fine, Tori."

_Tori_. He'd never been so casual with me before, but he must have heard Daphne address me so. I don't particularly like the name, but it fits a confused teenage girl a lot better than 'Astoria' does, which brings me to my next point: I'm not okay. The war may not have targeted me, but it came right up to my doorstep and banged – hard.

A few years before the war, Hogwarts was run by a power-hungry sycophant from the Ministry. She seemed to favour us Slytherin students, but only because we were 'rivals' to her real target – Gryffindor student and my other second cousin Harry Potter. She created 'educational decrees' mostly to antagonise Potter, but many of them were arbitrary responses to events that had nothing to do with Potter, including banning the use of camellia oil in the bathwater when she was sick of the scent. She was volatile, and my husband knew it. As the newest Slytherin prefects that year, he and Pansy Parkinson were delegated the unenviable task of doing whatever they could to keep Slytherin students in the woman's favour. He tried – oh, he tried so hard – he didn't even derive enjoyment out of tormenting Potter.

Alas, even my husband could not be everywhere at once. One day, I ran afoul of the Ministry woman. "What did she take offense to?" you may ask. Well, she took offense to my magnolia flower hair clip. She claimed that it was too shiny and thus distracting in an academic environment. I'm sure it was. _The flower was entirely matte_. If I wasn't certain she was post-menopausal, I would have chalked it up to her dating TOM that week. I suppose if it had been pink, she would have allowed it – even approved of it. At any rate, I left her office two hours later with _I will avoid naff Muggle-esque hair ornaments_ etched into my hand. I don't know if it was just because it happened around the time portfolios for the Healer track were due, but I must have looked a miserable sight.

He came around the corner, without his twin for once. Upon seeing me, he instantly looked toward my hands – and he knew where I had been. He smiled in his usual kind but mischievous manner, and reassured me that he was on his way to give her "plenty of Gryffindor trouble". Then, he popped a Canary Cream into his mouth and became a giant molting yellow bird (he didn't look much like any canary I've seen; I think they simply wanted alliterative appeal). I couldn't help it – I laughed. The next day, he remembered me, and I was able to learn that it had been Fred.

I'm not so foolish as to think that I was truly in love with him. But they say that the first love will always remain with you. When he and his twin flew out on that horrible woman, I was cheering as loudly as any of the Gryffindors. And when he was killed in the war, only his mother wept harder.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm genuinely appreciative of my life. Most of my family survived that last war. My husband and I have a wonderful relationship and we've just opened a new chapter in our lives. Merlin, I am probably the only woman in history who has gotten along with her mother-in-law since day one. It's a blessed life, but I must continue to be the dainty pretty wallflower that no one gives a second glance to. I must continue to wear this mask of soft ivory.

Because my loving, devoted husband is still healing from the horrors of the war. Because my mother-in-law has had to hold it together for her family for so long, I just need her to be able to live out the rest of her life peacefully. But mostly, because the baby boy sleeping in the cradle beside us must never – ever – have to be like either of them.


End file.
